A Dreaded Thing | Teen Ink

A Dreaded Thing

February 3, 2012
By Lacer GOLD, Highland Village, Texas
Lacer GOLD, Highland Village, Texas
19 articles 0 photos 72 comments

Favorite Quote:
The thing about philosophy is that it often runs dry when thought of so shallowly.

The first night only one came, and he touched me, and made me take off my clothes. He hurt me, on the inside, where I thought they could not touch me.
They say it’s what’s inside me that’s wrong, that I am not like them. I am not ‘emotionally distraught’ as the Pale Man with the dark face first told me. Now they say I am ‘sociologically disturbed’. Only the Pale Man with the breasts and the soft voice tells me that, and he is kind to me.
He says he’s not a man, but I can see it. In his face, his eyes, his behavior, they all tell me what he used to be, even if his words don’t.
I watch them. I know them. The Pale Man with the dark face is in control of the others, but not as much as he thinks. He wants power, but he also wants to be right, both kinds of right, by their standards. The one with the breasts, the real ones, is a drug addict, I know because I can smell it, I see her eyes, and I just know. She has a thick, gruff voice, like a man. This is ironic, considering the masculinity she compares to the man with breasts.
The one who hurt me is very much like me, more so than I’d like. He doesn’t see other people as people, but as things he can take from, things he can hurt. But unlike me, he chose to think that way.
The one with the fake eyesight is the one who came with the one who hurt me the second night. I know his eyesight is fake because his eyes are lavender, and in proper light, I cannot see his pupils, only glare, like his eyes are filled with light. That is also ironic, considering what he did to me. That night I saw nothing, because I closed my eyes. But I felt them. I felt them touching me on the inside, where I thought I couldn’t be touched. The Pale Man with the dark face says that was where he was trying to get, inside.
But he wanted to be inside my head.
I think I hate them. All of them. I think I hate the pale man with the dark face, I think I hate the woman whose struggling to control her addiction, I think I hate the man who hurt me, and I think he hates me too. I think I hate the Pale Man with the fake eyesight, and the man who tells me that he is a woman, even if he is nice to me, sometimes he touches hands with the Pale Man with the fake eyesight, and the man with the breasts looks afraid. He’s afraid because he doesn’t want the Pale Man with the fake eyesight to know the truth.
But I know the truth; they are all afraid of me. I am their enemy and their patient, which is why they treat me like a dog. They want to teach me not to bite, put a leash around my neck and keep me in their full body collar.
That is why they try to reach inside my head, to turn off my bite, but I won’t let them. Not tonight. Never again.
I haven’t smiled in a long time, but tonight I have something to be happy about. Tonight is the third night, the Pale Men with their flesh prods will come. Tonight they’ll take off my clothes and call me a b****, a dog, but tonight will be different.
Today I told the Pale Man with the breasts that I knew his secret, today I threatened him. Today he gave me what I wanted; one little thing.
One little knife under my tight binds, one little knife to slice up their prods, one little knife to gouge out the man’s lavender eyes.
Tonight I’ll be the dog they’ve pretended that I am.
Tonight I’ll bite back, I’ll bite them all.

The author's comments:
Oh look; another sociopath in my stories. I think she's one of my favorites. Do you think this could be going on in some mental institute? Food for thought.

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